A Menagerie of Birds
by the Unrequited Lover
Summary: Black winter raven. Exotic summer bird. Mischievous autumn falcon. Dracula's brides, how they meet eachother, how they come to love one another as sisters. But wouldn't life be easier if Dracula just cared for one? Verona, Marishka, or Aleera?
1. Raven in the Snow

"Marishka!?"

"Verona, you're trying my patience," Dracula responded coldly, turning around to look at his eldest Bride, who stood arms folded and shoulders hunched in a way that reminded him distinctly of a raven. And ravens were all very fine for winter, but here it was the summer of his life and he had gotten a wonderful tropical bird to dance for him.

Verona stared, lips parted slightly, at the Count. He looked at her for moment, his expression one of false patience and a thinly veiled threat- _"Don't argue with me, Verona. It will not get you what you want, only what you don't."_

If she pressed the matter, Verona knew that she would only end up facing exile from his life, and she knew that she would then throw herself at his feet and beg him not to banish. So she swallowed her accusations and said in a soft voice, almost a whimper, "Don't you love me anymore?"

His expression did not change, and he turned back to what he had been doing with a wave of his hand that said he quite thought the matter was trivial.

"I've had enough of this conversation," he said by way of a response. Far from reassuring.

Verona took a step back slowly, uncrossing her arms. She hoped he'd stop her from leaving, maybe turn back and insist he loved her the best of all and take her into his arms and she would kiss him in worship, like she had done before after fights.

But this wasn't just a fight she could kiss away from his hands. This was an entirely different matter. There was another Bride in Castle Dracula.

She took another step back, and another, but could not bring herself to turn away. Her voice felt small and trapped in her throat, choking her, making her feel so helpless at the situation.

She made a small noise, half wanting to get his attention, and half hoping he'd ignore it, so fearful she was of his temper.

And he turned around with an eyebrow slightly raised, his face no longer amused at anything. It was a mask of cruel indifference and harsh reality.

"You're still here?" he inquired.

Verona didn't think about anything, just turned and ran out of the chamber, her feet echoing in the room, making a dull, hollow sound, and as she usually was so silent, she felt like a clumsy child afterwards. As soon as she got out, she took the brass doorknob and tried to slam the door behind he. It didn't work. The door was too heavy, and while she pulled at it, her cool losing and frustration and deep sorrow setting in. It slowly closed, finally shutting, making a small clicking noise as it locked.

Verona collapsed down against it, and would have fallen to the floor if her hands hadn't still clung to the doorknob. A small silence passed, and then was interrupted by the smallest of small sounds, sounding like crying without tears.

Verona never cried, though, did she? Of course not…but there was something she was doing.

Eventually, as the black sky grew to a purple, she went up to her own chamber and leaned against the door. She wondered why the Master had needed someone else. Was it because she wasn't beautiful any longer? She didn't know, she thought she had been beautiful before. He had chosen her for that as well as her take-charge attitude and intellect. Maybe she was losing out on it. She smoothed her long, dark hair. It still felt soft. Was the new girl's hair softer? And her eyes…she didn't know what they looked like. She touched her face, her neck, her shoulders. Maybe it was that stupid conservative outfit of hers. Maybe the new one didn't dress like that. Maybe she dressed in order to show off her assets. Well, then Verona would do the same, she vowed.

She went to her closet and frantically began searching for more light clothing.

Her efforts slowed and she finally sat amid a sea of clothes, her head bowed in humiliation and defeat. She put her hands to her neck and ripped off the fashionable starched collar, then the huge dress and rummaged around for something else. It was sheer, it still had a collar, and it had a low neckline. Wiping her face off of all tears, she pulled it over her head.

She looked up. The sky was pale and it would be dawn soon. She crept into her coffin and latched it shut. Lying there, after all that, she thought before venturing into sleep, _was it really worth it? Changing her appearance just for him?_

_Yes_, she decided firmly before falling asleep. His love and attention was worth anything, even dancing in the snow.

_Ravens only dance in the snow when they're looking for food. If you send your pet raven out into the snow, you know that she's going to become a scavenger? A heartless black bird, flying over fields of battle until she's shot down?  
__Are you willing to risk that?_

_I would expect more from you…_

**To be continued.**


	2. Birds of a Feather

_Disclaimer: Dracula owns his brides, sadly..::hugs brides:: and Stephen Sommers owns Dracula, sadly. I would hug him, too, but I highly doubt that, if I did that, I would live long enough to finish this chapter and upload it._

_Thanks for reviewing-_

_Mari Amber- I love your name. I'm glad you like the story, here's the update._

_Laiqualaurelote- Your name, I like it, too, but it's a pain to type out. I like them all equally, but yes, Verona is lovely._

_Agnes Fey- Whyever not? She's a wonderful Bride…but it's all right. I'm glad you think so; I love the Brides so much._

_wicked1- I feel bad for them all! Poor dears…_

_SilverFlover- you want me to update everything, though! Yes, we do still love him…_

_Linwe Ringeril- He does, doesn't he? The bastard spawn of Satan he be…_

_SapphireShadows- You like the Brides, no? You read all the stories about them…_

_LadyValerious- Well, I'm glad to hear that! I love comparing things to other things, it's odd sometimes._

Night fell on Castle Dracula slowly, like the melting of a layer of ice frozen over a pond. In contrast to this slowness, though, Verona's eyes opened with a snap. She unlatched her coffin and got out with agility, and resumed her pacing. The first thing she notised was what she was wearing, which was quite unlike her usual dress. In place of her typical somber, elegant, urbane garments, she wore a pale dress, the arms transparent and shimmering. The embroidery was nice, but…she picked at the threads on the collar, missing the starched ruffle she'd grown accustomed to. Well, she supposed she could get used to that, despite how different it was. Glad that for once she did not see what she looked like, she ventured out of her chambers, looking towards the dark hallways that made up the Castle with some anxiety.

She had not combed her thick hair, but as it was already sleek as a panther's coat, she did not bother. Being vain like that was ridiculous without reason, she decided firmly. She had better things so be vain about, like her cool composure and quick thinking…. The Bride shook her head and began walking down the cold staircase.

"Verona?!"

Dracula sighed. Another day, another….bride.

"Marishka, my love…"

"You mean you already had a bride?!" The Finnish girl stared, mouth open in disbelief. Her bare arms lay at her sides; her blonde curls were in disarray around her face. He watched her with distinct boredom. Why couldn't they be happy for eachother? He was, after all, too mercurial to be tied to one Bride. If he stayed with one, he was sure to grow tired of her with time, so he was really saving them all from pain by keeping more than one. But they never thought of that, never thought about things in the long run. They were too shallow, licking their wounds, like children who don't know any better. Ah, but children learn with time. At least, he hoped they'd learn.

"Yes, my dear. I did."

"Then what did you want me for?!" she demanded. He looked at her and she fell silent, though he knew she was still enraged. He could tell by the way her eyebrows furrowed, and the way her hands clenched into fists, the knuckles turning white.

He turned to his newest bride, his face softening. "Marishka, darling….why don't you go to the dining room, have some of those chocolates you like so much? It isn't as good as blood, of course.." he sighed theatrically. "It may make you feel better."

Marishka turned on her heel and strode out. The last thing she said before she went out was, "Chocolates don't' make a woman forget!"

Hurt and angry, she tried slamming the door, because it might make him know how mad she was, but found that it was too heavy, and to her dismay, it swung slowly shut.

As soon as it had closed, she cried in fury and irritation, "Stupid door!" and kicked it.

Marishka regretted kicking it immediately, and sat down on the floor, rubbing her foot. It was sore, and she struggled to keep tears from sliding down her face. Even after it stopped hurting, though, the tears kept coming.

"That man!" she exclaimed. "How dare he?!" And she stood and began running as fast as she could down the staircase, running into the dining room.

She sat at the table, sulking something terrible, and reached for an apple. She bit into it, grumbling about Dracula and treachery, when she heard the cool, calm- and surprised- voice of a woman.

"So, you're Marishka?"

She looked around. There she was. The original. Green dress, long, straight, dark hair, piercing eyes, and an unreadable expression.

"Yes," she replied, feeling stupid. This was her rival; she couldn't say silly things like that. "I'm Marishka, so I'm assuming that you're Verona?"

She felt like saying 'I hate you' to the other woman, but felt that wouldn't be proper or pleasant at all.

Verona nodded. "I am she…."

She walked around to the other side of the table and sat across from her. She sighed, noting how Marishka watched her so warily.

Marishka blurted suddenly, "You weren't supposed to be here!"

Verona raised an eyebrow. It was odd…she'd thought the girl would flaunt Dracula in her face, but it seemed she was just as unhappy as Verona herself was.

"No?" she said finally, after thinking it over. Marishka's face was ashy and she looked quite upset. "Well, if you don't mind my saying, I don't think you should have come."

That shut Marishka up. The nerve of her, this new girl! Oh, but she was the new one, wasn't she?

"Why not?!" she shouted after a period of struggling with herself for a reasonable answer.

"Because if you hadn't come, I'd still be alone with the man I loved."

"And if you hadn't been here, I'd be alone with the man I love!"

"Well, how do you know he loves you?" Verona asked calmly, watching her with a look that she didn't understand.

Marishka thought about it, fearful. Then retorted, "Well, shut up! If he didn't love me, he wouldn't have brought me here…" she trailed off. She wasn't sure of that. "Well, maybe he doesn't love you, you're not good enough for him or he wouldn't have needed me! Has that ever occurred to you?"

She fell silent, feeling that she'd said too much. Verona's gaze fell to the floor, yet she showed no sign of anger.

"Yes. Yes, Marishka, it has."

Marishka bit her lip. "So, you're mad at me? Why? I never did anything…I mean…I…oh…"

"I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at…" Verona sighed and stood. Marishka frowned and stood as well.

"Him? Dracula?" she asked, puzzled.

Verona looked back, a sad expression on her face. "Myself."

Marishka felt bad, remorseful, even. "Well, he didn't tell me about you till just now. I'd say he's the one who messed up!" she said. She hated unhappy people. She had an older sister, and a lot of older brothers, and a lot of younger siblings. She'd come from a big family and she, the middle child, had taken it upon herself to make sure everyone had sunshine in her life. And now she was a vampire and would never see sunshine again.

Verona smiled slightly. "Thank you, Marishka….is that a Hungarian name?"

Marishka grinned, her usual enthusiasm about life back. "Yes, but I'm from Finland. Verona's in Italy, isn't it? You're Italian?"

Verona nodded. "Yes, I am. I'm quite fond of it there, you know…" she sat back down, and Marishka did as well, taking another bite out of her apple.

Verona took an orange and peeled it slowly. "Where'd he meet you?"

"Him? Oh, on the sea….I'm a sailor. A pirate, actually."

"Fascinating. A woman pirate?"

"Yes," Marishka answered, quite proud of the accomplishment. "And I can swordfight just as good as anyone!"

"That explains the pants," Verona said, thinking. "Why you don't dress like a normal woman. Well, no vampires are normal…"

"Normal? That's so boring. I left home to get away from normal."

"Well, it's good to know you don't succumb to the life of a woman as it is, either," Verona remarked. "I myself headed a large financial affair without help form any husband, the only unmarried girl in my family."

"That's great! So we're both independent women and we're both rich. Excellent!"

At the satisfied look on Marishka's grinning face, Verona had to laugh.

After he'd taken care of what he'd been working on before, Dracula straightened his jacket and walked from the room carefully, ignoring the chilling air, which he'd grown quite used to. He heard Marishka's outrageous laughter from somewhere and he frowned a bit. What had she found to laugh at, he wondered? Surely it wasn't anything good…

He quickened his steps, hoping the two hadn't met and started…a duel, if Marishka had her way. Or something of the sort. No doubt Verona demanded a chess match.

He burst into the sitting room, where the laughter had come from. He saw the two brides sitting on a couch, looking at a book.

Marishka looked up and squealed in joy. "Master!" she cried. It was an affectionate term, as he was the Master of his estate. She called him, as did Verona, by his name on certain occasions.

"My ladies," he said, bowing his head slightly. Verona smiled at him, shutting the book and placing it on a table.

"I had worried that I would find the pair of you screaming murder at eachother," he said, amused.

"No, of course not!" Marishka said, then hugged Verona fiercely. "Sisters only fight sometimes."

_Birds of a feather flock together. And yet there are those birds that will fight over a nest and the victorious creature will take control of the place, absolutely unmerciful to the nest's previous owner. Are you tempting nature?_

_Somehow I thought you would not do that- are you proving me wrong?_

**To be continued.**


	3. Exotic Bird

_Disclaimer: One of these days, Verona, Marishka, and Aleera will belong to themselves (you go, girls!) but for right now they belong to Stephen Sommers and Dracula. Drac, stop looking so smug- you belong to Stephen Sommers, too.  
__Thank you for your lovely reviews,  
__SilverFlover: I'm glad you like how I write them all…they and he are the best characters!  
__SapphireShadows: Aww, I'm glad you liked it! And they are wonderful, aren't they?  
__Wicked1: I'm glad you think so, I've been writing for quite some time.  
__Agnes Fey: Yes, I always thought Marishka'd be that one…._trop d'audace_, bless her damned soul… I liked making them get along…  
__Laiqualorelote: Yes, they are! What a quote that is! Can I add it to my profile? And I thought she was Finnish upon first seeing the film, so I haven't changed it…even though she's more likely to be Hungarian! But I like to make Ocs from Hungary, so…  
__Mariposa Gema:I don't pick favourites, but Aleera is definitely most like me…  
__LadyValerious: I know I haven't! It's so sad- my goal was to write a lot on Marishka, since she's so unrepresented, but then I notised a lack of Verona in everything, and so I was sad because it made me look like on of those people who hates her serious attitude, and I wasn't sure how to write her…but now I've neglected Aleera! Argh! Balance is hard!  
_

"Aleera?! _Aleera?!_ You're joking, love- who in hell is Aleera?" Marishka demanded, hands balled into fists.

"Who in Castle Dracula," the Count corrected her without turning around.

"Right, that. Don't remind me!" she snarled. His hand, which had been reaching out to an icicle to snap it off from the window ledge and discard it, froze. A frown forming on his face, he sighed and instead tucked a strand of dark hair from his eyes, holding his hands behind my back.

"Why, Marishka?" He asked, turning slowly to face her. She opened her mouth in outrage to reply to him and he said softly, before she could say anything, "Why do you trouble me with your fool's talk?"

She began to shriek, "Fool's talk?! Listen to yourself!" but the phrase died on her pink lips, ending on the stubborn "f".

She took a step back, looking down at her gold-sandaled feet, then lifted her gaze carefully and said, "Fool's talk, Master?"

He nodded, keeping eye contact with her, stepping into the shadows of the room, glancing up at the tall, painted ceiling for a moment, and her gaze followed his. When he looked back at her, he found her still looking up, and he wondered absurdly whether the cobwebs had contained and ensnared her eye line as well as they had many helpless flies.

Or not. She looked back at him, a silent plea written on her face. Her hands, earlier so angry, were sweating and she wiped her palms on her trousers.

"You may leave now," he said, then looked up again at the ceiling, contemplating the spiders. Were they fit for the ball, should he sweep them…perhaps Verona would assist him in choosing out new curtains, she always did love decorating-

"Master?"

Marishka. He shut his eyes briefly. How irritating. If Verona did the same…if Aleera did…he didn't know how he'd handle it all.

"What is it, Marishka?" he asked, opening his eyes and looking at her, deciding quickly that it was a tedious situation he'd found himself in.

"Why did you need another? You have me- Verona, too- why her?" Her voice was a whimper now. "Do you love her?"

He looked at her pointedly, then looked out the great window towards the even greater moon.

"You don't?" Her voice echoes in the empty spaces of the grand ballroom. He did not answer her; with Halloween coming, the anniversary of him, his Brides, of every being in his command, he was busy enough. He didn't have the time to deal with Marishka and her silly head. Even if it wasn't silly, her fears were. All their fears were, they were little and scurried like rats if you but chased them away. And he had not the time to chase fears from her head, either.

"This is nonsense," he muttered out loud. Marishka shifted a bit from behind him and he turned to face her.

"Yes?"

"Well…." she seemed uncomfortable, and unable to force the words from her dry throat. "_I _love you, Master."

"I can see that quite plainly, Marishka," he said, patience waning.

"Can you?" she asked, serious in her question. "It shows on my face? Those things…don't show on yours."

"You are too audacious," he murmured, annoyance crossing his brow.

"Unless you don't' feel those things?" she whispered, licking her lips, her eyes wide and fearful, but a glimmer of hope within…or perhaps it was the gleam of her golden jewelry; in either case Dracula chose to ignore it.

He took a deep breath and strode back to the table in the middle of the room glancing down at it to check for the details of costumes once again.

If he had turned back, he would have seen the image of Marishka shatter, her face fall; seen her turn around on her heel and flee from the oversized ballroom. But he did turn back, unbeknownst to her, and thought of it- the imperious room was much like her, the exotic bird with the golden plumage and shrill laugh, her mocking call, her airy flight. But it was all just playing pretend, he knew. She was not deadly, not made for war, and would not last as long as he, although she'd last long enough. She was made for the frivolous days of summer; but in autumn, one must prepare for war. What better bird to fly at his side than a falcon, who would so simply kill all lesser creatures? Marishka; she was lovely, but she would melt away like her precious sea foam. He shrugged the thought off and went back to what he was doing, blocking the sounds of her heavy, cumbersome footsteps from his head.

Through her tense vocal chords, Marishka managed to squeeze out a "stupid- big- room!" to express her anger at the large, corridor-like space. The door seemed miles away and she could not use her wings to fly, her shoes clattered meaninglessly against the floor, which warred against her so much. The sound of her footsteps sounded all the worse for the thought that he heard it and cared nothing. Finally she got to the door. Not as heavy as the door to his chambers, Marishka flung it shut quickly and then, fearing his reaction, fled up the stairs as quickly as her agile legs could carry her and stormed into her room, where she threw herself at the foot of her coffin and lay sobbing, as though tears would come out if she tried hard enough for the sound to be expelled from her throat.

In time she stood up from where she lay, sniffling. Of course, she hadn't cried at all. Considering her options, she thought about what to or to not to do. It came upon her quickly and she ran from her room, furnished in gold, her absolute favourite colour. Gold coins littered the floor, winking smugly at her, and her sandals made an odd noise as she stepped on them on her way into the corridor, then a hollow sound came as she ran through that into another room down the hallway.

"Verona!"

The dark-haired bride looked up at the blonde, whose lovely face was twisted in sadness.

"Marishka?" she began, a small frown on her face. Marishka ran to her and buried her face in her lap, her shoulders shaking. Verona stroked her head gently, pity on her face.

"Shh…" she said kindly. "Now….what is wrong?"

Marishka looked up and said, voice trembling, "There's a…new Bride."

Verona stared at her, her mouth dropping open. He'd had her, then Marishka…then he had to go and get…another? After she'd swallowed hard, imagining how fast her heart would have been beating if she had one that did, indeed, beat, she said in a restricted tone, "Well….that's interesting."

Marishka sniffed.

_Exotic birds only flourish in the warm tropics. If you move to the cold snow in the winter, the raven may flourish, but the gold will fade from her plumage. Will you risk that? Can you stand to harm her in such a manner?_

_It's as though you don't even care…_

**To be continued.**


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